


The Dilemma

by Mums_the_Word



Category: White Collar
Genre: Christmas Presents, Gen, Reputations, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 04:49:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17053454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mums_the_Word/pseuds/Mums_the_Word
Summary: The Christmas holidays are approaching and that presents a problem for newly-paroled Neal Caffrey. Perhaps the handsome young man wearing the annoying ankle bracelet will have to pull off another slick con in order to survive in his now claustrophobic world. Set at the beginning of the series.





	The Dilemma

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a long time since I have posted anything under my pseudonym in this White Collar forum. I guess I’m a bit nostalgic for the good old days, so I created this for any of my past fans who are still reading my work as well as any other diehard White Collar souls who may want to take a peak. Happy Holidays and happy reading.

Neal suddenly found himself in a bit of a dilemma, and he realized it was his own damn fault. He had allowed himself to be persuaded to participate in a White Collar office tradition. Apparently, every year right before the upcoming holiday, all the agents and ancillary staff drew names and became a Secret Santa to a teammate. To be fair, there was a method to Neal’s brash madness. Any good con man worth his salt tried to blend into his surroundings—you know, be regarded as just one of the guys. Then the high level of suspicion regarding his presence among the enemy went down a few notches. It had always worked like a charm for Neal during many other deceptive schemes in the past. However, it now appeared that Neal’s luck had finally run out because karma was a real bitch. The name that Neal had blindly drawn from the cardboard box was none other than Reese Hughes, the ultimate parody of Ebenezer Scrooge.

Neal had only been on parole for a few short months. He really didn’t know Hughes all that well, nor did he wish to deepen that social connection. The old fossil had made it very clear from day one that he didn’t trust Neal, much less like him. Hughes merely tolerated the con man, probably just waiting for the opportunity to read him his rights and slap on the cuffs. Neal knew he wasn’t imagining the sight of the throbbing little vein on the big boss’s temple every time Neal opened his mouth. Maybe, just maybe, a felon’s very presence in these hallowed halls of justice had earned Hughes a few root canals in the past several weeks. So, given the tense atmosphere between himself and the Big Kahuna, Neal was doomed no matter what gift he chose to give the formidable man. Neal was savvy enough to know he had to alter his precarious situation, and he started with Peter Burke.

The slick young con artist slid into his handler’s office with a megawatt smile in place. “Hey, Peter, whose name did you draw for the gift exchange?”

Peter seemed preoccupied with some files on his desk and answered absently, “I drew Diana’s name. El knows her pretty well, so I’m giving my wife the assignment to buy a thoughtful and tasteful gift since she’s so much better at this than I am.”

“Listen, Buddy, I could help you out with that,” Neal said cheerfully. “You wouldn’t have to put Elizabeth to all that trouble. She’s probably so busy with her catering business right now during the holidays that it would be an imposition on her valuable time. I could swap names with you because I already have an appropriate type of gift in mind for Diana.”

“Do tell!” Peter was now very focused and interested in whatever type of nefarious caper his CI was probably proposing, as well as why he was trying to rope his handler into the scenario.

“Well, I was thinking along the lines of a retractable baton—you know, something like what Sara Ellis always carries with her,” Neal was adlibbing fast and making it up on the fly. “I think it’s a fitting gift since those two fearsome women seem to be cut from the same cloth.”

Peter frowned. “I’m not sure that type of weapon is approved for use by FBI agents.”

Neal kept pleading his case. “Aw, Peter, don’t get all bogged down in official minutia. You gotta admit, it would be an appropriate present.”

An evil smile formed on the agent’s lips. “Did you ever consider the possibility that Diana might use it on you when you aggravate her beyond her endurance level?”

“I guess you may have a point,” Neal conceded.

“So, why are you trying to manipulate things, Neal?” Peter asked suspiciously. “I know you must have some reason, so just come clean.”

“Because I’m doomed, Peter,” Neal huffed out. “I drew Reese Hughes’ name so you’re looking at a dead man walking. Nothing that I give him is likely to win me any popularity points. It will probably just make things worse.”

Peter threw back his head and laughed. “Got yourself stuck in a real quandary, do ya? I’m going to be very intrigued to see how you manage to pull this off, kiddo.”

“It’s not funny,” Neal looked forlorn.

“Oh, but it is,” Peter laughed some more.

“How about if I promised to do nothing but mortgage fraud cold cases for the next two weeks,” Neal steadfastly offered. “Would you consider swapping names then?”

“That’s tempting, Neal, but no,” Peter said firmly.

The young man frowned. “If you’re supposed to be rehabilitating me, this is not the way to go. You should be nicer, Peter, and favors are always a good start.”

“Well, I think the old carrot and stick routine is working out just fine so far,” Neal’s handler smirked.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal next approached Diana very cautiously. “Diana, I have a problem. Maybe you would be kind enough to help me out.”

Diana raised one eyebrow and glared. She didn’t respond; she just drilled holes into Neal with her laser eyes. Neal always felt as if there was a time bomb ticking away in the room whenever he was in her presence.

“Um,” he faltered, his glib tongue having suddenly deserted him.

“Just spit it out, Caffrey! I haven’t got all day,” Diana demanded.

“Right--sure,” Neal mumbled. “You see, I drew Hughes’ name for the gift exchange and I’m certain you can appreciate how much of a problem that is for me. I was wondering if maybe we could switch names. I could sweeten the pot by promising to prepare a really fabulous dinner for you and Christie any night of your choice.”

Diana’s expression didn’t soften. Instead, it looked downright malicious. “Aw, poor you,” she taunted. “The answer to all your finagling is an emphatic ‘no.’ I drew McAllister’s name who's stuck down in the evidence locker, and buying something for that caveman is a piece of cake. Just a case of beer and lots of junk food snacks should do the trick. You’ll just have to be more creative with Hughes’ gift.”

“You know, Diana, sometimes you can be really mean,” Neal threw over his shoulder as he next walked to Clinton Jones’ desk.

“Hey, Clinton, I’ll treat you to some happy hour drinks after work if you swap Secret Santa names with me,” Neal cajoled. “It doesn’t even matter who you’ve picked, I’m on board with it.”

“They’re called ‘Secret’ Santa names for a reason, Neal,” Jones answered. “Nobody is supposed to tell who they drew, so no dice.”

“But I’m very good with secrets,” Neal answered as he placed his hand over his heart. “We can keep this all on the down low with nobody being the wiser.”

“Forget it, Caffrey,” Jones brushed off Neal’s suggestion and returned his attention to his laptop.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mozzie sailed into Neal’s apartment that evening and made a beeline for the Merlot in the wine rack. While searching for a corkscrew, the myopic little man noticed his friend seated at the dining table looking morose.

“Uh oh,” Mozzie uttered. “I know that despondent look. I think one of two things may have plastered it on your handsome mug. Either June has run out of Italian roast or your fancy salon doesn’t carry your favorite hair gel anymore.”

“It’s worse than that,” Neal replied sadly. “I have to buy a Christmas gift for Reese Hughes. Got any ideas, Moz, ‘cause I’m open to anything right about now?”

“Sorry, mon frère, but I don’t support the concept of Christmas which, by the way, is really based on the pagan holiday of Saturnalia, an ancient Roman festival honoring the god Saturn. It marked a week of overindulgence in food and drink, sacrifices called ‘gifts’ offered to their god, and just a general sense of debauchery. During the festivities, the temples were adorned with fir trees. Nobody is really sure when fir trees were first used as Christmas trees in the more modern world. It probably began about 1000 years ago in Northern Europe. Many early Christmas trees seem to have been hung upside down from the ceiling using chains so they resembled chandeliers, but I’ll bet they didn’t dare put lit candles on the branches. All that gaudy spectacle was probably added later.”

“Thanks for the history lesson, Moz,” Neal said irritably. “But it’s not really helping with my current problem.”

The poor little man looked chastised and Neal felt bad about putting that expression on his face. “Look, Moz, I’m sorry. I know Christmas couldn’t have been a great experience for you growing up in an orphanage. I can almost sympathize because my Christmases wound up being pretty dismal too after my father left my mom and me.”

“Yeah, I guess we’re both just misfit broken toys,” Mozzie acknowledged, “but it’s not just about the bad memories, Neal. From my perspective, it’s how the Yuletide season has evolved into a commercial nightmare that’s truly disgusting to behold. Stores start promoting their ‘Black Friday’ sale come-ons in October, and Hallmark begins raking in big bucks for their pricy cards and wrapping paper not long after that. Amazon offers free shipping and drone delivery to entice their targeted customers, and mothers and fathers drive themselves into debt buying the latest tech toys for their greedy kids. And don’t even get me started on the charity scams that crop up and flourish right after Thanksgiving.”

“Duly noted,” Neal replied seriously. “Now I get why you mysteriously disappear every year during Christmas week. Where, exactly, do you go?”

“I spend my time away from teeming civilization in front of a roaring hearth in a ski lodge high in the Alps. Just picture me with a flared-lip glass of German schnapps in my hand,” Mozzie said almost reverently. “It’s my version of Walden Pond.”

“A ski lodge,” Neal mused. “Do you even know how to ski?”

“Let me reassure you, mon frère. I go for the pure and blissful ambiance rather than that ridiculous Alpine misadventure that enthusiasts deem a sport,” Mozzie answered primly.

“Maybe one day I’ll be able to join you,” Neal said with a longing expression on his face.

Now Mozzie was the one feeling ashamed of his earlier acerbic diatribe regarding the Christmas holiday. As a peace offering, he was willing to try to help his friend out of a sticky situation. “So, this Hughes—what do you know about him?”

“Not a whole lot,” Neal admitted. “Only that he’s an old curmudgeon who never smiles. And, oh yeah, I forgot the most important facet of his nature.  I think he hates me.”

In response, Neal’s cohort in crime reached for the laptop on the table and sent his fingers flying over the keys. Suddenly, he had SAC Reese Hughes’ FBI photo up on the screen. “Well, maybe he could use a case of Rogaine, ‘cause he’s looking a little sparse on top of old Smoky,” Mozzie suggested.

Neal quirked an eyebrow drolly. “Isn’t that a bit like the pot calling the kettle black?”

“Well, _obviously_ , the stuff didn’t work for me,” Mozzie snorted. “That’s why it’s the perfect gift. It would appear to be something that you’ve given the recipient in good faith, but, in reality, you’d be punking him.”

“Let’s move on,” Neal pleaded.

“Okay, how about a fake bottle of McCallum Scotch,” was Mozzie’s next idea. “We have experience making that bootleg hooch, so it’ll be like riding a bike—easy peasy.”

“That idea won’t fly either,” Neal said. “The office has a predetermined limit of no more than $20 spent on these gifts. Good whisky costs a lot more than that.”

“For crap sake, you can’t even buy a decent lunch in the city for a mere $20!” Mozzie was aghast. “The evil government bureaucracy is tight-fisted and chintzy regarding their minions, while the fat cats higher up the totem pole are lining their pockets with lucre illegally filched from the unsuspecting masses.”

“Yep--got it,” Neal quickly interrupted the growing rant that was sure to follow.

“Well, mon frère, I guess you’ll have to do what any good con artist would do in this delicate situation. You must embark on a clandestine course of meticulous reconnaissance so that you know your mark, or, in this case, your evil nemesis,” Mozzie said with a firm nod of his head.

“On it!” Neal declared.

~~~~~~~~~~

A few evenings later found Neal and Mozzie with their heads together in deep consultation.

“I managed to lift Hughes’ wallet from his back pocket when I ‘accidently’ bumped into him at the urinals in the men’s room,” Neal explained. “I thought I might have a look at the stuff inside to see if anything tweaked my creative juices—you know like membership cards for clubs or coupons for specific merchandise.”

“That was a bold and dangerous approach, Neal,” Mozzie marveled. “In this explosively gender-charged world with its burgeoning claims of lewd indecency, you could have been accused of improper sexual conduct and labeled a predator.”

“Don’t worry, Moz, Hughes never felt a thing, not even when I put it back in his pocket when he went to the breakroom for coffee.”

“So, did you find anything interesting?” Mozzie asked curiously.

“Just this,” Neal answered as he pulled up an image on his phone. It was a picture of a pretty young twenty-something smiling coyly into the camera.

“Well, well,” Mozzie purred. “It appears that still waters may run deep. Do you think this may be a little piece of heaven that the old goat has tucked away on the side somewhere?”

“Seriously, Moz,” Neal said drolly. “If it was a girlfriend, would he keep a picture of her in his wallet for his wife to discover? Besides, he has another picture of this same person in a small acrylic frame on his desk. I had an opportunity to cruise through his office when he was out lunching with some bigwigs from Washington. Peter, Diana, and Jones were away, as well, requalifying for their firearms training at the shooting range. So, I’ll need you to dig far down into that laptop and get more information about the mystery woman’s identity. I want to know who she is and what she is to Hughes. Who knows, it might come in handy someday.”

“Can’t you just ask your new friend, Peter Burke?” Mozzie asked pragmatically.

“Afraid not,” Neal sighed. “He’d want to know why I was interested in Hughes’ private life, and then he’d shoot me down without a second thought because he really doesn’t trust me just yet. That’s an issue we’re still struggling with at the moment.”

“Well, good luck with that one,” Mozzie snarked.

~~~~~~~~~~

It took several hours, but the little computer savant managed to supply Neal with his answer. “I’m truly amazed,” Mozzie said in mock awe. “I didn’t realize that AI was capable of procreating.”

“AI?” Neal asked in a puzzled tone.

“ _Artificial Intelligence_ , Neal. That’s a concept where a mechanical device such as a master computer uses a pre-programmed system to correctly interpret external data, learn from such data, and to use that data to achieve specific goals through adaptation. AI is not hampered by human emotions, so it sounds pretty much like your pal, Hughes.”

“Let’s just get back to the picture, Moz,” Neal begged.

“Okay--here’s the lowdown. This young woman is Reese Hughes’ granddaughter, actually his only third-generation progeny. Her name is Meghan Hughes, and she’s a twenty-two-year-old college student studying linguistics at a Massachusetts university. I doubt this avenue is going to be of much help to you, Neal. I can’t imagine how you can tie her into a Christmas gift without being labeled a stalker.”

“There may be another way,” the con man mused as an idea began taking shape in his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~

The office Christmas party was in full swing just a day before the actual holiday. There was non-alcoholic eggnog and sparkling cider being passed around, and trays of finger food canapes were in abundance atop the rows of desks. Everybody was in a festive mood because criminals had been relegated to the back burner for the day. Neal actually found that it felt good to be around these happy people right now. He was a bit lonely since June had left on a Mediterranean cruise and Mozzie—well, Mozzie probably already had his feet up on an ottoman in front of a fire in some Swiss chalet. However, Neal knew himself. He had realized long ago that he was a people person, not given to long periods of introspective solitude. He needed the exhilaration of being socially engaged and a part of something exciting, even if his current comrades were firmly entrenched on the other side of the legal equation. He looked around him and smiled at the chaos, starting with Peter who was extolling his pleasure regarding the understated tie given to him by one of the shy probies.

“Maybe this can replace that lucky tie of yours,” the young man said hopefully, “not that there’s anything wrong with the yellow one that you sometimes wear, Sir,” he quickly added.

Diana barked out a laugh. “I think it’s about time you retired that sad puppy, Boss.”

Peter opened his mouth to object, and then had second thoughts and quickly shut it before handing Diana her gift. The feisty female agent seemed to melt as she touched the softness of the Burberry scarf nestled within the folds of tissue paper.

“I thought there was a $20 limit for the gifts,” Neal whispered to Peter. “Unless that piece of plaid wool is a knockoff, one Andrew Jackson definitely wouldn’t cut it.”

“Well, perhaps I bent the rules a bit,” Neal’s handler smiled. “Just keep that ‘need-to-know’ information under your vintage fedora.”

“Note to self,” Neal intoned comically, “Boy Scout, by the book, Agent Burke can be compromised in certain circumstances.”

“Don’t even think about taking advantage,” Peter warned. “That probably won’t end well for you.”

Their discussion was interrupted when Jones sidled over and handed Neal a square box wrapped in bright red paper. Inside was a set of DVDs that featured Rat Pack movies. “Thanks, Jones. I guess I’m going to be binge-watching Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and the rest of the good old boys over the holidays,” Neal said with a genuine smile. This gift actually was quite touching because it was personal, and Neal truly appreciated the thoughtful act of someone he hardly knew outside of the workplace.

“I guess now you know why I couldn’t swap names with you, Caffrey,” Jones explained.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” the con man answered, “because these are great and I’d probably never have thought to buy them for myself.”

“Well, it’s do or die time, Neal,” Peter whispered when they were again alone. “Hughes is the only person without a gift in his hand. I may have happened to notice that you slipped a package into the bottom drawer of your desk when you came in this morning. Now it’s your turn to step up to the plate, Buddy.”

“Since you love baseball metaphors, Peter, let me just say that you shouldn’t expect any homeruns,” Neal said morosely. “There’s not going to be any hitting it out of the park tonight.”

“Aw, Buddy, I have faith in you,” Peter said as he clapped Neal on the shoulder. “You can probably pull this off with your usual dazzling panache.”

Neal, however, wasn’t so sure how his offering would be received by the dour old agent. But Peter was right. Waffling in the face of danger wasn’t an option. He had to put on a protective façade like a knight donning his armor before he went into battle. So, with a charming smile, Neal sauntered confidently up to Hughes and held out the gift. “I’m your Secret Santa, Sir.”

Hughes’ eyes narrowed just a bit as he stared at this infuriatingly cheeky criminal that Peter Burke babysat on a daily basis. The old man never understood the dynamic between them and probably never would. It was one of life’s great mysteries. Over the course of his long career, Hughes had made himself endure many annoying things, and Caffrey was just the last bugaboo in that long list of irritants. It was all about staying power. Hughes knew that he would still be sitting in his office long after Caffrey screwed up and returned to Sing Sing. It was just a matter of time. Of course, the old veteran said none of this out loud, but Neal was very adept at reading and interpreting expressions, so he got the message loud and clear. It took a lot of effort to keep his grin firmly in place.

Hughes took the object from the con man’s hands and slowly began stripping away the paper. What he finally beheld was a striking oil portrait of Meghan Hughes, quite similar to the small photo in his office.

“How do you know my granddaughter?” the now furious man roared in Neal’s face.

Suddenly, the ambient buzz in the bullpen grew ominously quiet as agents stood transfixed waiting for an imminent explosion when they would be forced to duck and cover for their own safety.

“I don’t actually _know_ your granddaughter, Sir,” Neal calmly replied. “I just happened to see a picture on your desk when Peter sent me up to your office with some papers. You weren’t around, so I asked Agent Burke who the beautiful young girl in the photo was, and he told me she was your grandchild,” Neal lied convincingly. He could only hope that Peter wouldn’t raise a hue and cry at this blatant falsehood.

Hughes just continued to glare unmercifully, so Neal kept the patter going. “I thought you may have wanted something a bit larger to perhaps mount on your wall …… or not,” he quickly added. “It’s a gift, and once a gift is given, the recipient can do whatever they want with it.”

Hughes finally ratcheted down from Defcon 1, and he even managed a civil tone. “Well, thank you, Caffrey. It looks like you really do have some artistic talent. Hopefully, you will use that aptitude judiciously on the right side of the law from now on.”

“Of course, Sir,” Neal quickly agreed. “I’ve seen the light and the error of my old ways.”

“Don’t push it, boy,” Hughes quipped. “Just quit while you’re still ahead.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When things started winding down and agents began packing up to leave, Peter was suddenly at Neal’s side. “El’s got a thing tonight. How about if you and I grab some take-out that we can eat at Casa Burke’s.”

“You actually want to socialize with me outside the office?” Neal asked in astonishment.

“Sure,” Peter quickly answered, “unless there’s someplace else you need to be.”

“Well, no,” Neal admitted.

“So, let’s go then,” Peter said as he headed towards the elevator with Neal trailing behind like an obedient child.

When they were in the car headed toward Brooklyn, Neal broached the delicate subject. “About that little stretch of the truth that I told Hughes, Peter. It was all for the greater good—you know, like saving my life.”

“Well, I’ll consider it another one of those ‘need to know’ tidbits which we’ll keep under that hat of yours,” Peter said fondly.

“You know what, Partner?” Neal said quietly, actually surprising himself. “This turned out to be a really good day. Merry Christmas, Peter.”

“Merry Christmas, Neal,” Peter said just as softly.


End file.
